the wonderful in you
by shomarus
Summary: In which Therese is afflicted with a fatal disease, and the only cure is the one thing she can't have. A story in three parts.
1. hands are ticking on the clock

It's possible, Therese thought, that perhaps this—and this meaning everything, from the uncomfortable situation to her own indistinguishable feelings—was her fault. She'd been thinking about Richard earlier, and it's possible that those thoughts were just the tipping point. It would have been a perfect explanation indeed, were it not for the fact that there's just no way that her feelings, assuming she was correct about where they came from, were unrequited. Richard very much had the puppy-dog look to him, and he was just as loyal as one as well. You could even make a case for him being _overly_ loyal, eager to please and all-too-willing to let Therese do with him as she wished.

Then again, Therese had been wrong about people before. She'd been wrong about the boy on the bus, who fawned at her and spoke of things Therese had never heard from anyone else, but never his name. She'd also been wrong about Angelo, the boy she'd dated once upon a time in high school. As it turned out, Therese was simply one of many, and she wondered if perhaps it were the same with Richard. Only this time, the price to pay, rather than what was basically social suicide, was her life. She'd done a case study on hanahaki once. The most common outcome in cases of hanahaki was death through suffocation. The prospect of choking to death on what was literally her own vomit was vaguely unsettling at worst. There were surgeries to remove to seeds, of course. It'd be tough to scrape through it, but Therese could pay and… What would she stand to lose? What did Richard truly mean to her? If she was 'in love' with him, then he must have meant something…

Idly, Therese tongued at a sour petal that had come up from her last coughing spurt. It would probably be a light, lime green petal, because green was just Richard's colour. She wondered that if she kept it in her mouth long enough, she'd be able to discern what kind of flower it came from. It might be a leaf from a lily, but it doesn't have the same silky, waxen feel. It might be a rose petal then, Therese wondered. She'd spit out the petals and try to cough up whatever else is in her throat when she called for a bathroom break.

Ah. She'd been lost in her thoughts long enough, because Rindy was starting to look just a bit impatient.

Therese leaned over, pushed the petal to the inside of her cheek. "Let's see… Now that you have the divisor, we'll try to divide the first digit of the dividend—this number here, see that two?—by that." They were working through long division by now, which was a little ahead of Rindy's curriculum. But, as Therese pointed out, they were doing so well already, and Therese liked Rindy enough, so it was better that she understand the material now rather than try to blindly stumble through it in the next few months. Rindy, however, was not wholly thrilled by this idea.

Rindy was Harge's daughter. Where she excelled in English, she did a little less good in her math, which was where Therese came in. She didn't have any special credentials, because she hadn't attended college yet (and really, she wasn't sure if she even had any plans to in the first place), but she worked cheap and that worked well enough for Harge. The more that she complied with Harge's needs the better, because There wouldn't lie if she were to say, theoretically, that he intimidated her. His tall, surly demeanor did no such wonder to his friendly image, of which was fairly nonexistent. Only for the next few weeks, Rindy wouldn't be working at Harge's house.

As though her thoughts could summon, the front door was pushed open, and Therese's attention snapped right to the source. In walked Carol with a few armfuls of groceries. "I can help you with that," Therese offered, but Carol simply shook her head and smiled. She had it, of course she did, why doesn't she continue working with Rindy for now?

"Oh, but I did bring snacks." Carol rummaged through the bags until she found a box, and opened it with a smile. Rindy wriggled in her seat impatiently, and Therese found herself grinning. Moments later, she set down a packet of Gushers, straight from the box, right in front of the girl. "There you are!"

Carol Aird was Harge's ( _ex_ , as she liked to emphasize) wife, a charming woman of somewhere around thirty, maybe. Therese had spoken to her once or twice in the past, to discuss Rindy's progress with Harge, and for him to explain what Therese's new schedule would look like. She had offered to take tutoring sessions elsewhere, because Carol was pretty and Therese would have hated to make her uncomfortable. Instead, Carol laughed it off with a careless wave of her hand. She wouldn't be able to drive Rindy to the library, and Therese didn't own a car, much less know how to drive herself. And really, she didn't mind! With all of the nice things Harge had said about her (later, she whispered into her ear that Harge hardly had anything nice to say about anyone, but he could recognize good work when he saw it), she deemed Therese as trustworthy.

Carol's house was filled with plants and paintings. Carol mentioned that she loved interior sign, and she worked to sell pieces in a furniture store. It really showed. What's more, Carol lived alone, so most of the guest rooms were turned into different things. "My favourite room is the game room," she spoke during the house tour. There weren't very many 'games' in there; just a few board games (Therese wondered if she could apply mathematics to Monopoly in a way that was beneficial for Rindy, because it's been years since she's played). A smallish television with a few game consoles Therese could recognize but not name. Probably for Rindy. A pool table was laid out as well, but Carol admitted that even if she had the time to play, she didn't have an opponent. Wondering if perhaps she was hinting at something, Therese threw out that she didn't know the rules of pool, and Carol smiled impishly. "I'll teach you sometime."

"How's my little snowflake?" Carol cooed adoringly, taking the seat next to Therese. She dragged a hand along her shoulder as she did, and added, "And how about Miss Belivet over here?"

"I think I get it," Rindy said, the hints of impatience starting to tinge her voice. "Can we take a break now?"

Therese cracked a grin. "I was going to call a bathroom break anyways." Rindy nodded eagerly, made a small 'hup!' noise as she inched off the wooden chair. She turned her head to Carol. "I think we had a good session. She's very studious, does her work on time. I like working with her." Even as she spoke, she could feel the petal uncomfortably pressed in her mouth. There was a rasp in her voice, like something else was about to come up.

Concern turned to immediate action. Therese whipped her head away and coughed into her balled up fist. Carol's face didn't shift immediately, not until Therese pulled her hand away. She stared down at the petals that had come up dry, with droplets of saliva peppering the tops. She stared and stared, a strange mix of horrified and intrigued. Red petals. Carnations. Carol seemed to know immediately what was up, and bit her lip. "Oh, Therese…" She got up and reached for a paper towel. Therese accepted it with a gracious and embarrassed thanks, and wiped up spit and flowers, leaves and her own regret.

"It's nothing, really," Therese said, though she heard it in her own voice and knew that she didn't sound convincing, not in the slightest. She tried again, "I'll get the surgery, no worries. It'll be like nothing ever happened." _Quite literally,_ she added to herself.

Carol sucked in a concerned breath. "Well, don't work yourself too hard."

=x=

The exact cause of hanahaki is unknown. A popular theory behind it is that there are always seeds of the disease growing in the lungs and throat, but they only blossom and cause trouble when combined with certain neurochemicals. Or something like that. Of course, Therese knew that it was just a theory, and that it was a far off theory at that. Not even the scientists claimed to be certain that this theory held much basis in reality. Everyone knew hanahaki is an illogical disease; many claim it to be a result of magic, or God's will, or whatever they said in order to blame something.

Therese, for the most part, didn't exactly care _where_ hanahaki came from. Now that she had the disease for herself, she supposed the logical course of action is getting the surgery to remove the carnations, and then confronting Richard. As all well-meaning girlfriends should do, yes? Or, perhaps, she should confront Richard first, and _then_ get the surgery. She knew that the plants were, in essence, the feelings one held for the object of their desires. But for all of Therese's (five seconds of) research, she couldn't find anything that confirmed or denied the surgery also removing memories as well. It's because she was being silly. Of _course_ there's no way the surgery removed memories.

Quickly, she swiped her fingers through her hair and sighed. Therese may as well just cross that bridge when she came to it. Until then, she had other things to worry about. Two or three days ago, Carol thought it appropriate to invite Therese out for coffee. "I'm having a little meetup with some of my friends. I thought I'd might like to see you there. Oh, don't worry, we're not going to talk about your abilities as a tutor." Eagerly, Therese had agreed to come. And Carol would be picking her up in thirty minutes.

Half-hours were some of the oddest measures of time. Thirty minutes was both horribly long and oddly short all at once. Therese was not a fan. This particular bit of time was (fortunately) the latter, and soon enough Carol texted her a little 'I'm here!' message, and Therese was forcing the flats on her feet and trying to scrabble for her shoulder bag all at once. Then she hesitated for a second, because did she _really_ need to bring her camera along? She didn't have the time to think, because why would she want to disappoint Carol, and so she swiped the shoulder bag off the short table and hurried up the steps.

Mrs. Robichek was waiting at the top, looking at her and she tried to question her about where she was going in such a rush, because Therese never rushed for anything. Apologetically, Therese mumbled something about how she was running terribly late, although she wasn't. Ruby Robichek was her landlady, someone who she met during her brief time as a cashier at some grocery store. She was someone who had offered Therese a place to live for a considerably lower price than most of the apartments she'd been looking at. And Mrs. Robichek was a nice woman, a nice woman who adored Therese. In turn, Therese tried to be quiet and considerate.

The only thing was that Therese did not like talking to Mrs. Robichek.

Carol was waiting by the front of the house, and Therese offered a quick wave as she hustled up to the car.

"Good news and bad news," Carol said, though she was smiling. "Bad news is that the girls canceled on me an hour ago. Abby got caught speeding and she texted me about that. Then Christine said she couldn't go because she's sick or some incredulous thing like that. But between you and me? Christine only tolerates me because she gets to see more of Abby." And then she laughed, and Therese laughed along, even though she didn't know who Abby or Christine was. Carol continued, "Good news is that we can still have coffee together."

Then Therese felt the familiar rasp as she took in a breath. Damn. A shame too, she hadn't had any major symptoms show up for a while.

The little cafe was a small local business, one that Therese had seen a few times but never bothered to go in herself. The woman at the front recognized Carol immediately, smiling cheerily. "Hey, Carol!" She leaned over to start preparing Carol's drink. She asked about the other two, and Carol gave the same story.

"You can go up and order too," Carol said. Therese settled for the first thing she saw when her eyes flicked to the top of the menu, a simple hot chocolate. After a moment of hesitation, she asked for the croissant on display and reached for her wallet. "Don't worry about it," Carol interjected.

They sat down at a small table that rested next to the window. Therese stared into the town street, of the cars that whirred past and the people that walked by. And she looked to Carol as well, who seemed content to just sit there in relative silence and sip at her nameless drink. Therese supposed that she was just as content to do the same.

"What do you do in your spare time?" Carol asked suddenly, against the rim of her drink.

Therese hesitated. Obviously, Therese wasn't under any obligation to impress Carol, but she wanted to. What was so impressive about the fact that she snapped pictures of things and longed to be picked up by a paper? Or that sometimes she drew, sketched up concepts and worked with the high school that had a drama club? That she played a bit of piano, but she wasn't very good at it and she only had a portable keyboard with two of the keys in the upper register that wouldn't play sound? And that while she liked to do that, the thing she loved to do the most was walk around town and daydream? It was all trivial, unimportant. She hardly thought Carol would care anyways. "Not much," she settled for with a simple shrug of her shoulders.

Carol nodded haphazardly, eyes closed. "Really, now?" There was a pleasant yet smug lilt to her tone, and her smile reflected that. Therese wanted to focus on her face, on that smile, but her eyes drove her away, forced Therese to instead stare down at her fingers. It was cold out, a little too cold for Therese to walk around without gloves on. She caught a quick look at Carol's own hands wrapped around the paper cup and then to the gloves that sat next to them. Brown leather gloves. Another insignificant detail amplified solely by the fact that Therese was there in the moment.

"I'd been thinking about applying to papers to become a photojournalist," she admitted finally. It was the least interesting out of all of the things she'd done, aside from maybe the walking business, which was both uninteresting _and_ cliche. "Though I suppose that means I have to start putting together a portfolio. If photojournalism doesn't work out for me, I'll take up a job somewhere else, do photography as a little side hobby. See if anyone is interested in buying my work."

Carol's smile only grew, like she was pleased that she'd finagled that little bit of information from Therese. Therese swallowed, felt something hard in the bottom of her throat. "And what do you take pictures of, Therese?"

She shrugged noncommittally, because to say the truth would be both embarrassing. Photojournalism meant taking pictures of people candidly, but it didn't feel right to do it. It might have been the parroting of children who yelled 'you can't take my picture, it's an infringement of my privacy!' back when she'd been part of the photography club in high school. Or it might have been a personal violation that she felt. Any number of needless reasons that seemed so stupid and insignificant, yet meant everything and more. "Whatever I think looks pretty."

"But why do you take pictures of these things? What _do_ you find pretty?"

 _You_ , came the thought, unbidden. And with that thought, Therese began to cough.

"I'm sorry," Therese said between wheeze, reaching for the napkins. She coughed into them, felt the flowers and the petals. It was a weird feeling; the petals tickled at the back of her throat unpleasantly. She swallowed when it was over, and looked at the paper that was smeared with red and a clear film of saliva.

Carol sighed, head tilted. "Oh, child. You've seen a doctor by now, haven't you?"

No, she hadn't. She didn't know when she'd do it, or if she'd even get around to doing it at all. "I will," she assured her, and balled up the napkin, took two more, just in case.

"You've caught the hots for someone."

"I don't even know who it is," Therese laughed, although her voice was devoid of any amusement whatsoever. It only seemed to further the grim mood. "I think it might be for my…" Who _is_ Richard to her? She supposed that after she got this mess sorted out (if it could even be sorted out in the first place), she'd break up with Richard. Would it feel fulfilling? Satisfying? As much as she tried to imagine it, the words and how her voice would sound saying them, she found that she was drawing blanks. "He doesn't love me. I doubt I'll be able to get him to love me in that time anyways." If Richard didn't love her now, would he ever? Therese was not exactly the kind of woman who stood out among others. She was like a wallflower, or someone who wasn't of this world. Always caught dreaming, as the people around her would say. Never on Earth, always in the heavens.

"Rotten little predicament, isn't it?" Carol sighed and touched a hand to Therese's forearm in a form of reassurement. "Call me up if there's anything I can do to help."

They spoke of other things, though she could feel that Therese's situation lingered in both of their minds. At the end of their rendezvous, Carol offered to exchange numbers with her. From there on out, it was unofficially decided that Therese would be the newest accompaniment to Carol's weekly outings.

Before Therese left the vehicle, Carol called out. "Wait. Are you free tomorrow?"

"I should be, why?"

Carol seemed to hesitate for a millisecond. It could have very easily been Therese's overeager imagination as well. "I hope you wouldn't mind it terribly if I came 'round sometime tomorrow. In the afternoon, maybe. I'd like to see your work."

Richard was supposed to be over tomorrow afternoon. That was when she planned to talk to him about her hanahaki, to see what he thought. But she could make an excuse to see him earlier, or even later if she wanted. She'd much rather spend the day with Carol than with Richard.

"I should have some time starting at twelve."

"I'll call you, then."

She wondered that if she fell out of love with Richard before the disease could take her, would she be cured? Carol smiled, and Therese waved goodbye.

=x=

Richard always called her at around three PM, because that's when he was typically finished with his classes. It was a good a time as any, she supposed, to invite him over. So she did, to his complete (or rather, her perceived) delight. He brought a box of dessert along, and Therese could only wonder even more. "My mom made too much zapekanka this morning, so I figured I'd bring some with me." Therese didn't want the cheesecake, but if nothing else, she could offer the rest of it to… Who? Carol probably didn't like sweets. Mrs. Robichek, maybe.

"Come down," Therese said, waving a finger at Richard as she trekked downstairs. He followed with a happy smile. He was always smiling with her, as though nothing could ever get him down. Therese supposed she liked that part of him, his optimism. But now it began to feel grating, like it was something that dragged on and on and she just wanted it to end.

She'd left her room a bit of a mess, and though she left it somewhat clean most days, she needed to prove a point here. The wastebin was full of balled up tissues that bled tiny bits of red here and there. That would be proof enough if Richard began to accuse her of something. But what could he accuse her of? "I want…" There was no easy way of saying this. There just wasn't. Yet, if Richard didn't love her, why would he care? How did one broach this kind of subject? Therese sat on her bed and invited Richard to do the same. "Why are you lying to me?"

"What?"

Therese turned to look at him, gaze neutral. "Have you ever loved me in the first place, Richard? How many times have you been in love before this? Before me?"

"Terry, what's this about?"

"Didn't you notice that I was coughing over the phone?" Therese was feeling angry now, the anger rushing out of a place she didn't know or care about. All that mattered was that she felt robbed of something, and she wanted to blame someone for it. The only person there _was_ to blame was Richard, right? "And you've seen the trash. Haven't you?"

Richard's eyes began to widen with realization. "I—" Then they narrowed with understanding. "God _dammit_ , Therese. Goddammit! I _do_ love you, and I thought that we were happy. You know, at least for a little fucking while. And then… Is it Phil? Fuck, Therese."

Why was _he_ angry? "What? What the hell are you talking about, Richard? Just say it, alright? Just fucking say it!"

And then Richard coughed.


	2. too tired for a walk

It had never been Richard in the first place. How Therese failed to see that, she didn't know.

Their parting had been awkward and unpleasant, and Therese _still_ felt guilty. Both guilty and a little (read: extremely) distraught. She didn't think she'd see much of Richard from now on, and she thanked her every little lucky star that she'd refused Richard's offer to have her move in with his family back during the beginning of their relationship. And his other subsequent offers that were actually just thinly veiled attempts for them to spend more time together. She felt only the slightest bit of remorse, if only because Richard didn't deserve _this_. He didn't

The only problem now was Therese didn't have a clue who was causing her current ailment. That was a lie; she had _multiple_ clues, but the longer she denied it, the longer she didn't have to come to terms with her newfound attraction to women she'd never realized before. A newfound attraction specifically for women that were, what, over a _decade_ older than her?

And yet…

Love at first sight. It was a silly concept, one played time and time again. A magical idea that seemed perfect in all of the movies and books Therese has seen. She'd thought, _she thought_ that it was a sort of impossibility. She could argue that her feelings had only increased since meeting Carol, but it didn't explain the red petals that she'd coughed up. Passing aesthetic attraction? That was real. But it wasn't strong enough to make Therese feel the way she did, both in her heart and in her lungs.

Speaking of. Therese looked to the stack of tissue boxes she'd accumulated over the past week and made a face. She hadn't seen a doctor. She wouldn't see a doctor. Therese would die holed up in the basement, and someone would have to discover her here and drag her out. Surrounded by the flowers that would become her tomb; a shameful yet freeing secret. Perhaps she'd write a letter too, detailing her every feeling.

But that wouldn't be fair to Carol.

It wouldn't be fair to anyone who knew her, the people who still cared. Richard might feel a passing sadness, or he might feel nothing at all. Or maybe he'd rejoice, but was he really so cruel? Rindy might wonder where she was, but people like Therese were replaceable. She hardly thought that she was someone who mattered a great deal to the child; she couldn't even really talk to Rindy without sounding patronizing.

Would Carol even care? That was a depressing line of thought she didn't really want to explore. Of course Carol would care. Therese smiled, felt the eerily-familiar rise in her throat. She'd see the doctor later next week, when she could no longer rise out of bed. Therese wanted to indulge in this new and exciting feeling for just a little longer.

Therese asked if there was any mail for her. She was expecting something from Dannie, who was currently off at university and was old-fashioned in the way that he didn't email her. "It's more personal that way," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, all while Therese rolled her own.

Richard had yelled something about how it was probably Phil that Therese had fallen for (and what a silly little thought that was!). She didn't have much of a heart to say that Phil wasn't her favourite between the McElroy brothers, that she actually prefered to spend her time with Dannie. Dannie probably enjoyed her company more than Phil ever had anyway.

"Thank you," Therese called behind her as she hurried back downstairs, Mrs. Robichek making a noise of acknowledgement in turn. There were two letters, one from Dannie as she'd expected. The other was a letter from, oddly enough, Richard's mother. Then Therese began to feel rather guilty, because if Richard didn't deserve to be afflicted with the disease, Mrs. Semco _certainly_ didn't deserve to go through whatever trauma she may knowing that her son had hanahaki.

Moreover, Therese didn't want to be listed as the cause.

She put the letter from Mrs. Semco down on her dresser and made a mental note to open it later. Therese reached for her letter opener, only to pause. That was a gift from Richard, when his family was visiting Europe and he'd picked her up a tiny blade in the form of a sword. Therese turned it over in her hand. When had it stopped becoming a simple letter opener, and instead became something of importance to Richard? She'll return it later, along with some of his other gifts. It was a rude thought, but if Therese didn't want them, what else was she to do?

Dannie's letter was short, filled mostly with personal anecdotes from his own university experience. _These people aren't as fun to have a drink with as you and Phil, Terry. It's like they're not drinking booze at all, but NyQuil._ Therese had smiled. Dannie's letters were perfect to read in an emotional pinch, a nice way to brighten her day, even if only temporarily.

The part at the bottom addressed what Therese had written to him in her last letter; about the hanahaki, and her rapidly deteriorating condition.

 _Sounds like a sticky situation. Hopefully the person you're pining for isn't me, hey? Just kidding._ He wrote a small winking face with a tongue sticking out, and Therese snorted. He could wish. _Really sucks that it had to happen that way though, Terry. You'll be a golden girl in two weeks! I'm sure you'll come to a rational conclusion. Write to me in a week, darling._

There was a postscript under Dannie's letter as well.

 _P.S - Managed to bug one of the staff members from the arts faculty, I'll give you his email if I can get it. He does photo editing, might be able to set you up with something if I bug him enough (read: piss him off enough). Alright, this time I'm closing off for real. Cheers!_

Therese set the letter down, the pleasant remains of a smile ghosting her lips. Dannie really was too good to her, and she appreciated every word that came from his pen. Then she picked the letter back up, and read through it again. A rational conclusion. Of course. Obviously, the most rational conclusion to come to is getting the surgery done, and continuing on with her life.

Therese was not feeling particularly rational.

Her eyes trailed over to Mrs. Semco's letter, and she began to chew on her lower lip in thought. She really should open it. She'd already gotten to read the nice letter, so it's only fair, right? She grabbed the letter opener off of wherever she'd left it, and tore into the envelope.

 _Therese,_

 _I would have called you, but I do not have your number, and Richard was reluctant to give it up to me. However, I still have your address from when I sent you the dress (speaking of, do you still wear it?), so hopefully this does not come as a surprise. He told me what happened, and I want you to know that you couldn't have helped it. You both must have thought that you were in love with each other; and quite frankly, that is a common story._

 _Richard will be getting his surgery next week. I wrote because I thought you might want to be updated on his condition, and because I am curious about yours. Although you and Richard are not partners anymore, you are still like a child to me, and I don't regret anything I've done for you, Therese. Do keep me updated from time to time. Richard would throw a fit, I think, if he knew that I was writing to you, but I write to you not as Richard's mother, but as myself._

 _I hope your recovery is well._

The letter wasn't venomous at all. And she didn't even blame Therese for not loving Richard in turn. She supposed that perhaps she might have expected that. Mrs. Semco has always been extremely lax when it came to Therese, and she suspected that this was only because Therese was a woman, and Mrs. Semco desired another woman to talk to. She had been to the Semco residence a few times during various holidays and she'd admit that the presence was chock full of testosterone-filled energy.

She'd write back to both Dannie and Mrs. Semco tonight, but she had to buy paper. No, actually, she didn't have to buy paper, actually. But it was a rather convenient excuse to call Carol up, see if she was free to hang out. Then she could walk over to the general store and buy what she needed there. Therese reached for her phone while coughing into her arm. More petals came up. Now, even when she wasn't immediately thinking about Carol, the petals would come up. It wasn't as bad as it was going to be. It would only get worse before it got better, Therese knew. She'd heard stories of people who were no longer coughing up flowers, but simply allowing their mouths to fill with petals. She was not bedridden yet. A selfish thought popped up in her mind as well, wondering if Carol would visit her if she did happen to fall bedridden.

Carol cared. She didn't care that much. Her smile turned wistful as she dialed Carol up.

* * *

"He- _llo_ there, Therese!" Carol sounded jovial today. Therese felt herself smile softly. It was funny to her, how she could deny that these feelings of her weren't real for so long, only for them to wash over her in one large tidal wave. Spilling over her in giddy giggles and wider smiles. Therese's heart fluttered, and she held down the urge to cough, not only because her throat hurt but because she didn't want to ruin Carol's mood.

Another voice piped up next to Therese. Rindy was sitting in the seat behind Carol, and waved enthusiastically to Therese. "Hi, Miss Belivet!"

Therese greeted her back, and Carol explained that Rindy had been _begging_ to go to a particular park for quite a while now, because there was a tiny lake that was now frozen. While Carol had explained that it was in no way solid enough to skate on, Rindy had asked to go anyways. It wasn't like she wanted to skate, of course, but some of her friends from middle school would be there as well, and this was very important and eventually, Carol caved. "It might not have been where you're wanting to go, but I hope that's alright?"

"Yeah," Therese said. She'd go anywhere with Carol right now. And Rindy would be away long enough for Therese to hear Carol speak. They didn't even have to converse. That would be enough. "Yeah."

Only a mere two seconds after Carol parked the car—Carol had counted—Rindy was already speeding off towards a group of children before either one of them could call after her. Carol smiled proudly at her daughter, and Therese watched the smile blossom with a sense of curiosity.

"Let's take a walk around," Carol suggested. It was getting _real_ hard to force the flowers back down. Therese nodded.

"Do you know when you're getting the surgery?" Carol asked. Therese wondered if this was small talk or an attempt to wrench information out of her, because Carol was just so concerned.

"I think sometime in the next two weeks. Hard to say." Hard to know, when Therese still hasn't seen a professional.

"That's so long."

"I'll manage," Therese said with a shrug. Her condition didn't truly matter in the grand scheme of things, because she'd simply have the flowers removed and all would be well again. Except Therese knew that moments like these with Carol, like back at the cafe, and all of their little lunches in between would mean nothing to her after this. That alone made her juggle the concept of simply throwing her life away yet again.

Carol laughed in a sore attempt to lighten up the mood. "Well, if nothing else, we're at a park, so if you cough, we won't even have to throw the petals away." Never mind the fact that it was just about wintertime, and nobody really appreciated flowers that came from someone else.

"They wouldn't look pretty," Therese replied with a grimace. "Blood's coming up with them now, although I can't tell if it's late symptoms of hanahaki or if it's just the fact that I've probably coughed out half my throat." Cue the half-assed laugh.

She paused. "You know, you'd do well to get the cure as soon as possible. I was in your place once." Carol turned to meet Therese's eyes, and they bore into her with both concern and reprimand. "It doesn't do you much good to leave it to the last minute. It gets harder."

Therese knew that. Everyone knew that; it was obvious, painfully so in a way that was both literal and figurative. "I just don't see the point in removing it yet."

"I know. You'll just wonder why you had those feelings in the first place, after it's all over." Carol gave a shrug, like it was nothing (and it may as well have been nothing at all). She began to walk again. Therese shuffled to keep up. There was sense to Carol's words; it really wouldn't mean a thing to her after the surgery was over. The thought was disturbing. Love was not wonderful or blissful, it was a plague. Something to be rid of if it didn't immediately benefit her. Yet Therese was willing to die for it.

She was on the tipping point, and Therese would soon rather let herself fall than do anything about it. It was funny, in a deluded sense.

"Tell me about when you fell in love," Therese said quietly, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets awkwardly. It was starting to get colder out, and yet again Therese hadn't thought to bring out her gloves. She hadn't brought out her toque either, and she could feel the cold nipping at her ears.

Carol hummed a note. "You know Abby, don't you?" Therese had met her last week. Therese knew that she was an important person in Carol's life. Abby, who had known her for what seemed to be eons, and as much as Therese had wanted to like her, she couldn't. For multiple reasons, reasons that blurred together and pulled apart and formed into words Therese could only try to guess at. Abby was inclusive when she didn't need to be. She flaunted a certain highness over herself, carried herself in a way that was both needlessly kind and needlessly haughty. But it was more than that, more than what could be gleaned from a single meeting. She wouldn't dare tell Carol about those thoughts either. Therese nodded. Carol's tongue clicked. "It feels like forever ago, and it was so blissful, for a while. I think it could have been different between the both of us, if I had realized the true extent of my love for her sooner. She was the one who fell for me first, contracted that _awful_ disease. Really, Abby was the more sensible one between the two of us. Got the flowers cut out, and only a day later I started coughing up flowers. The _same_ damn flowers. And the worst part? She knew that she'd been in love with me at some point. So close and yet so far." Carol laughed at a distant memory, shaking her head.

"Ah, I see," Therese said, ducking her head down just slightly. Carol must have felt awful. Abby might have felt guilty for not postponing it for another day. She took her hands out of her pockets and played with her fingers for a few seconds before they were cold again. "It sounds like an uncommon story, but I'd be unsurprised to hear it happens a lot." What would it mean to Therese if the same thing happened? If she got the surgery, and then… Well, it was a silly, frivolous thought.

Wishful thinking, really.

Impossible.

… Yet.

Therese stopped walking, keeled over, and heaved.

They both stared. There was no longer just carnations in the bouquet of Therese's love. Cheery yellow daffodils laid on the cold ground, contrasting against the stark red of the carnation. Therese laughed at first, because it was so unbelievably funny to her, and then she began to cry. And she cried and coughed and felt pathetic as Carol kneeled next to her and rubbed circles on her back. The flowers were beautiful, and yet.

And yet.

* * *

Carol was right. It got harder.

Therese stopped coming out of the basement. She didn't bother to even drag herself up the stairs anymore to dump the buckets of flowers (finally she'd stopped coughing up flowers, and instead began to expel them as though she were puking) in the garbage bins anymore. Not until it got to the point where Therese could hardly navigate in her own room. Every breath she took was ragged, and her chest always felt compressed under the weight of a house. But she was not bedridden yet.

She had to stop tutoring Rindy at that point. Therese walked wherever she went, and she couldn't walk anywhere without carrying a trash bag for the flowers. Carol told her that Rindy understood. Therese didn't really think so, but she didn't protest against it. She didn't want to talk about Rindy.

She felt bad for thinking it as well, but her condition gave Carol a good excuse to come over and see her more often. It gave Therese a good excuse to ask for tinier things with her body. Reassurance. A conversational partner. Presence.

Carol.

Although at first, her check-ins were only for a few minutes, simply to see how Therese was doing, they ended up growing longer and longer as each day passed.

"You lied to me," Carol said one day, though she did not look at Therese. She perked up from where she rested, and dared to wonder why Carol's tone was harsh. Even before the words left her lips, Therese saw them written on her face as she turned. "You're not planning to get surgery."

"No," Therese admitted with a chuckle that came out a wheeze. The line between Carol's eyebrows darkened more as Therese's own smile widened. "I'm not."

"Why?" The smile disappeared almost immediately. There wasn't pleading in her voice, but a sort of coldness that stabbed at Therese. "Do you think you're being poetic? It is heroic to you, killing yourself for _what_? Why, Therese?"

And then Therese did wonder. She knew the short answer, the easy answer, the excuse. Because she was in love, and what would be the point? But what was the point of forcing those around her to suffer as well?

"It wouldn't be just me you hurt." That was true too. Therese thought of Dannie, who wouldn't be there and could only assume that she'd pass on because her letter would never arrive. And how long would he wait until he found out the truth? She thought of Mrs. Robichek, someone who wasn't wholly important to Therese, but someone who might have seen her as a good person. A sweet girl. Mrs. Semco, who cared enough to write to her, and maybe even Harge (although his loss would surely be impersonal).

Therese didn't know what to say. Not immediately. "I know." She was acting petulant, that was obvious, but there was something that she wanted to cling to. Even now she was being selfish, trying to draw little bits of sympathy from Carol. It was ugly. It was childish. She wanted to stop and yet she willed herself to continue. "I don't want to go."

"And I don't want you to die, but we don't all get what we want, now do we, Therese?"

Carol's stay didn't last much longer than that.

Even after Carol left, Therese could feel her heart still sunk into her stomach. She shouldn't have said anything. She should have seen the doctor. She shouldn't have made Carol mad. She'd ruined everything. Everything, even if there wasn't anything there to start? Carol's anger was in the right place, or at the very least, coming from a place that Therese could easily understand. Carol was at her wit's end, and even still, Therese made things harder.

What did she want, truly? The obvious answer is that she wanted Carol's affection. More than she'd ever wanted anything else in her lifetime. In the movies and books, people always tried to go after the affection of their beloved. And it always worked. Real life was not the same as that. There were so many factors that contributed, and it wasn't simply the taboo nature of Therese's love. That wasn't the issue at all.

Therese coughed weakly and closed her eyes. She heard her own breathing, uneven. She heard the sound of her own heart, steady but faint. If one got the surgery, it was impossible for that person to fall in love for the same person again. But Therese wanted to be in love. Wanted it desperately, and with nobody other than Carol.

Carol hadn't tried to ask who it was that Therese was in love with. She was sure that if Carol asked, she would say the truth instinctively, because that desire was so _poignant_. Therese tested the words on her lips, and as she said it, the desire only grew. "I love you, Carol."

Therese was utterly helpless against a love painful enough to die.


	3. your heart is trying to find you

The letters that she wrote were promptly dropped in the mailbox. Therese waited for a second, listening to the wind. How much longer would she be able to hear the sounds of the wind, before that was ripped away from her as violently as the flowers were ripped from her chest?

She swallowed, hard. Then she began to walk back into the basement.

Therese had done her best to make her letter to Dannie the same as her letters have always been. But they were not the same as they have always been because Therese was fully aware of the fact that this could easily be her last letter to Dannie. She wrote about little stories she experienced while meeting with Carol's group of friends. When she saw a squirrel poking its head out in the middle of winter, of all times, and how it even allowed itself to have a picture taken.

Her hanahaki problem.

 _You were wrong, I think, about me being rational. I wish I could say that I am, and desperately. I mean that, Dannie, I truly do. Everything would be so much simpler if I wasn't so sentimental, I think. I grieve, because I never wanted to say any of this, but it wouldn't be fair to leave you in the dark. Have you hear it from some third-party, or otherwise._

 _I'm not scared, of course. I've never been scared, not this entire time. It's kind of bittersweet—and I mean not the petals! You may think me a fool, McElroy, but the most dangerous kinds of fools are the fools who are in love._

 _Please write to me, even if you think it's worthless. There's always the chance I miraculously survive, because God takes pity on me or whatever kind of excuse you want to spin on the wheel of Fate. I appreciate everything you've done for me, and I appreciate everything you will do for me._

 _With all of my love._

But not quite all of it.

* * *

"I'm taking you to the hospital."

Carol's tone left very little room for debate.

Therese supposed it was her fault that she let Carol see her this way. She'd been visiting enough to the point where Mrs. Robichek entrusted her with a key to the place, and that's when she'd seen Therese's frankly pitiful condition. Flowers were strewn every which way, Therese looking like an absolute mess, and perhaps the worst part of all; she woke up unable to breathe.

The reality of the situation dawned on Therese. Carol had managed to expel most of the flowers, but if she'd been alone, she'd have choked to death. On what was essentially her own vomit, to boot. She guessed that she was indebted. If Carol had not decided to check up on her at that particular moment, Therese may have died then and there.

There would be no goodbye.

There would be no tears.

So Therese didn't protest when Carol picked her up from her bed. "You're surprisingly strong," she mumbled tiredly, head leaned up against Carol's shoulder. "I can walk, y'know? Please don't hurt yourself trying to carry me." Selfishly, she desired this.

"I know you can. And I won't hurt myself." Carol tut-tutted at her. She did let Therese walk by the time they got to the stairs, because Therese made a fuss about the fact that if Carol carried her up the stairs, then surely she'd hit her feet against the wall, because the stairwell was thin and long and Therese was heavy anyways. Therese didn't mention that she could feel Carol's arms and how they struggled to keep her held close to her chest, but she loved that about Carol as well. It was endearing, and Therese smiled, trash bag clutched in her hand. She smiled up until she was actually in Carol's car and they were driving off.

"Carol?"

"Yeah-hm?" Carol's gaze would not be torn from the road, and Therese didn't say anything further. She stared out the window, watched the scenery change before her eyes. But she couldn't register any of it. Therese played with her fingers, heard them crack. She swallowed. In the next few days, Therese would have the flowers cut out of her chest, and then that would be that.

The world would lose its colour, and where would that leave Carol?

Despite herself, Therese began to tear up. It was so _stupid_ , she was so _stupid_. Why couldn't she just let go? Who was so idiotic as to want to die because of your sentimental feelings? Where was Therese's sense of self-preservation? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Stupid and young and drunk on love.

Carol took Therese's hand, and the tears fell.

* * *

Carol did her best to visit Therese every day. Therese appreciated the effort.

"How are you feeling, Therese?"

She smiled. She'd been breathing with the help of an oxygen mask for the past few days, but she felt better than she did the day she'd arrived here. The surgery would be done tomorrow. Carol promised to swing by after the surgery was done, and Therese tried to tell her as much as she did. "I feel good. There's a chance I'll die on the table."

"That's because you left it for too long, you dummy." Carol smiled sadly at her, slapped her gloves against her own hand. Therese loved even the little things like that as well. Carol's anxious mannerisms, the little twitch her smile gave when she was covering despair, how she played and picked at her clothes because her hands needed something to do. This moment, Therese wanted to keep in her heart for as long as she lived. Carol and the sun that lighted her hair up in the perfect way, her eyes that held worlds of sadness and a bewilderment that intrigued Therese and left her trembling, wanting more.

Carol was beautiful. That was plain for the eyes to see.

But Carol didn't know the true extent of Therese's affection, _couldn't_.

"I…" Therese stopped herself. She knew very well what she was about to say. The words she muttered when she was crying into her pillow at night, the words she longed to say to Carol, freely and without fear. She closed her eyes, exhaled a shaky breath. "I want to thank you. I don't know where I'd be at if I hadn't met you. You're such a good friend to me, and I… I'm glad."

Therese would not be in this bed if she hadn't met Carol. But the ill-fated bliss came from the fact that she had the joy of being able to meet Carol at all in the first place. No, Therese could not regret where her feelings came from. She couldn't regret a single thing. She reveled in the look of surprise that flickered across Carol's face for the most brief of moments. Therese realized that the closer she came to losing her love for Carol, the more she wanted to cling, to savor every last second of that feeling.

"Well, I would say that my quality of life has been _significantly_ raised since you've come into it." Carol let the words fall off her tongue in a slow drawl, honey-like and smoky in all of the ways that Therese would know and love. "I hope I'll have the pleasure of being able to know you for years to come."

Therese smiled.

* * *

The way the doctors spoke about the flowers, Therese wondered if it was possible for them to leave just a tiny seed. She wondered, that if that tiny seed was left, if it would blossom into the dangerous love she came down with yet again. She didn't bother asking, because she feared the response and the idea of being branded as odd because she enjoyed this love and all of its pains.

It wasn't like she wanted to know what was being done to her in exact terms anyways, but they insisted that she _had_ to know, otherwise they wouldn't be able to do it and—yadda, yadda, yadda.

So they explained the procedure, and all the while Therese bit back the sarcastic thoughts, the ugly thoughts, and tried to listen. She was being unreasonably bitter, she knew that. She wouldn't be awake for the operation, of course. They'd try to cut out all the flowers ( _like trimming a garden,_ she'd thought to herself), and then when she awoke… That would be it? That was all she wrote, see you later folks. The closer the reality, the further away it seemed.

Therese signed the papers and pushed them back to the doctor before she could have a chance to hesitate. Because if she hesitated, she wouldn't sign the papers, and instead of dying a lonely death in her basement, she'd die in a lonely hospital room. That would be selfish.

She couldn't be selfish, not at the cost of Carol's happiness.

* * *

"You'll make sure I can see you as soon as they'll let me, won't you?"

"Go up to the front and ask them to give you a call when I'm ready for visits. I'll be fine." It was kind of endearing in a sense, how worried and frantic Carol was. She didn't seem to be the kind of person driven so easily by anxiety, but Therese enjoyed discovering these new things about Carol too. She smiled unconsciously, played with Carol's left hand. Her hands were always cold, Therese realized, but she didn't mind it. Liked her all the better for it, even.

"Aren't you scared?" Carol asked, taking Therese's hand into her own. "I don't want to say it, but I'm worried. I want you to make it out." Her voice broke for the tiniest of moments. "Please don't make it so that I have to remember you as the girl who waited _this_ long for something so simple and silly."

"It's more than that," Therese whispered.

"I know it is."

It was such a perfect moment for Therese to say it. Carol standing up, about to take her leave, Therese about to be prepped for surgery. If these were to be Therese's last words to Carol, would she want them to be anything else? And surely it wouldn't be a crime either. Friends loved each other just as well as lovers. Only Therese knew that these feelings carried more weight than platonic adoration.

The swelling in Therese's heart welled up and spilled over the edges the walls she'd once tried to keep so high.

"I love you, Carol. I'll see you soon."

Carol paused for a moment.

She turned around. She smiled warmly and waved a now-gloved hand at Therese.

"I'll see you soon."

* * *

Therese woke up.

She felt a dull thud in the center of her chest and underneath her ribcages. She focused on that pain for an hour, more or less, before her doctor came in to see her, looking mildly apprehensive. She had the time to collect her thoughts by then, yet oddly enough, nothing felt different to her.

"Well, Therese…" She blinked as the doctor carried on. "We couldn't find any flowers."

That was a surprise.

Yet it made a stupid amount of sense the more Therese thought about it.

The night before her surgery, Therese had spent a good amount of time throwing up into bins, far more beyond the threshold of normal late hanahaki symptoms. At the time, she'd assumed it had something to do with the stuff the hospital had been giving her to prepare her for the surgery. And that had made sense as well, because surgery would probably be made easier if there were less flowers to actually remove, right?

But there had been so much, Therese was afraid she had annoyed the medical workers with the sheer amount of bins she was filling up with her own biowaste. It made sense, because she hadn't been throwing up the flowers because they wanted to expel as much as they could.

It was because Therese was cured.

She had barely heard the rest of what her doctor said to her, something about how she was lucky, or whatever. And Therese _was_ lucky. Stupid and lucky and all the other things she called herself in the past few weeks. Therese could have cried.

She did cry.

She was crying, even after the doctor left and Carol came in, looking a little red in the eyes herself. "God, you're alright," Carol whispered, snagging the chair by Therese's side. Therese thought that if she hadn't just had her chest sliced opened, Carol might have jumped into the bed with her. "You're alright, you're alright."

"I'm more than alright, Carol. I feel like I'm walking on the clouds!"

* * *

Carol took Therese to her home for the night, just as they had originally planned. Therese was still sore, and Carol argued that she needed someone to care for her while she was on the road to recovery. She simply let it happen, because this was what she wanted too.

She still hadn't told Carol who it was that she'd been pining for all this time. Therese smiled with the confidence behind a disease she once loathed. She would tell Carol soon, unless Carol brought it up to her first.

The two of them ate a home-cooked meal, courtesy of Carol, who had fussed about making things _just_ so. Rindy was at Harge's again for a short while, Carol explained. It was just a night for the two of them. Did Carol realize it? Did she know that the words Therese had uttered before she had gone under were meant to indicate the object of her desires?

It was likely she didn't.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Therese asked.

Carol looked up from the dishes that she was washing. "... Now, why do you ask that, Miss Belivet?" There was no small bit of amusement creeping into her voice, and that's when the both of them knew at the same time.

Therese stood up and Carol dried off her hands. As soon as she turned around, Therese stood up to her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to her lips. Like this was not simply the first time they'd kissed in the past, but instead the billionth time, filled with both curiosity and a strange familiarity. Carol pulled her closer and Therese ended up breaking the kiss between giggles. "That's why I ask."

"You _idiot_ ," Carol whispered through tears, but Therese realized they were happy tears. "You should have told me, you should have said something…"

"I didn't want you to feel guilty, because it wouldn't have been your fault," Therese said, playing with a stray lock of Carol's blonde hair. "And I didn't want you to tell me that it meant nothing either."

Carol laughed. "I've been harassing you about leaving it for so long, and yet…" She shook her head like she was reprimanding herself. For something she couldn't control, Therese might add, and ended up cutting her off with a peck on the lips.

"Hush, you. I didn't expect anything."

They paused for a moment. "Let's not talk about things that make me blue. Tonight's a night for celebration."

"I love you," Therese burst out. It felt _good_ , to be able to say the words and worry not for anything, for anyone. "I love you, Carol. I love you so much."

Of course, it would never compare to the feeling of her fluttering heart when Carol replied, "I love you too."


End file.
